Regret
by Ohnann
Summary: The aftermath of a transformation affects Remus during breakfast.


**"_Regret_" by Ohnann (****ohnannyahoo.co.uk****)  
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**Disclaimer: Remus Lupin, his Marauder friends, Hogwarts and Hagrid all belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm just getting this plot off my chest.**

* * *

Remus Lupin watched how his friends literally placed piles of food on their plates. Remus himself felt queasy and light-headed, and could barely bear to look at the porridge, the toast and all the sandwiches. He'd given up all thoughts of eating, but accepted the glass of cold pumpkin juice Sirius handed him.   
  
He had gone through yet another transformation just the night before, and it had probably been too early to leave bed. He was just about to take a sip of the juice, when it, and his glass, suddenly was adorned with bright green dots. He blinked, and looked over at James, who sat next to him. James, too, was covered in the dots, which suddenly began to pulsate in front of Remus's eyes. The young werewolf shook his head, but they didn't disappear, merely grew in size and number. It had been foolhardy of him to join his friends for breakfast.   
  
Mesmerized by the ministrations of the dots, Remus felt his self-control slip. He wanted his range of view to return to normal, but was powerless. Wanted to put the glass down, but couldn't. Wanted to speak, but found himself unable to form the words.  
  
Around him, James, Sirius and Peter laughed and joked. He was surrounded by friends, yet he felt terribly alone with his untouched juice and his vivacious dots. The temperature in the school had been quite pleasant when he'd dragged himself down the stairs to meet his friends, but now, it seemed to rise uncontrollably with his every heartbeat.   
  
Of course, he realized that it wasn't the school that became warmer; it was him.   
  
He felt another pang of nausea in the pit of his stomach, and for the first time that morning, he considered telling his friends. He'd always been one to take care of himself, but now, a cry for help seemed inescapable.  
  
Remus willed his mouth to speak the words he so desperately wanted to be heard, but not a sound came over his lips, even though they were slightly parted, due to his uneasiness.   
  
This overwhelming feeling of light-headedness was nothing new to Remus, but he'd always been in bed, or very near one, when it came over him. The course of events made him extremely frightened, as he always became when his mind lost control of his body. It had been better if he'd simply fainted on the spot, but something held him back – probably the stubbornness he knew he had within him, though it rarely surfaced.  
  
It was an awful position to be in; victim of the whims of his body, though clear minded enough to know what was going to happen next.  
  
The nausea was soon over, but neither the vertigo nor the cold sweating decreased. He could handle those, Remus decided. As long as he didn't risk throwing up all over their breakfasts, his three partners-in-crime could be left in the dark. They had enough trouble with him as it was, and didn't need to worry more, he reasoned. The last thing he wanted, was his best – only– friends to think that he took advantage of their good heartedness whenever it suited him.  
  
After what seemed like hours and hours on end, but in reality probably was a minute or two, Remus's body took the next step when it came to agonize itself. His fingers became very cold, in the blink of an eye, and he was no longer able to hold on to the glass with the juice. With an odd sense of relief, he watched the bottom hit the tabletop with enough force to push some of the content over the rim.   
  
He couldn't tell what happened next, but after a while, he was vaguely aware of owls circling high above him. For a second, he watched them move gracefully, each bird enhanced by the light clouds which posed as the ceiling this morning. The energetic dots were no longer there, and soon he wondered why he was facing the ceiling, and not the sticky stain he'd caused the table.   
  
"How are you?" Someone, whose breath was warm and close to his cheek, whispered.  
  
When Remus tore his gaze from the fuzzy clouds above, he realized that he still was at the table, though half-lying across two chairs. His legs were on the chair he'd occupied a moment ago, but his upper body was resting in James's lap.  
  
"It was too early," he croaked, glad to have regained enough control to speak again. Something inside of Remus made it impossible for him to meet his friend's worried gaze, so he focused on a few renegade strands of jet black hair, probably originating from James's bangs, hovering above him.  
  
He hadn't told his friends how he was feeling, and eventually lost control. Unable to recall what had happened, he assumed that he must have collapsed into James's shoulder.   
  
Sirius and Peter had risen, and both eyed him, with concerned expressions. They must have realized that Remus hadn't told them about his condition, but they didn't seem to care. At least, no one had accused him of anything yet.  
  
Sirius cursed under his breath, looking down at Remus's pale features. "You have to stop scaring us like that, Moony. Peter nearly choked on his cereal."  
  
"I'll be fine after a little rest," Remus got out, not quite recognizing his own voice.   
  
James shook his head, making the strands of hair Remus scrutinized dance. "You're going to the hospital wing, even if I have to carry you there myself."  
  
Remus managed a crooked smile. "You've persuaded me."  
  
"Now, that's the Moony we know!" Sirius chuckled. "Always using those fancy words…"  
  
Remus chuckled too, as he watched the morning's first rays of sunlight make their way across the ceiling.

* * *

Many a year later, Lupin was chuckling still, when he thought back on that memory. But it was with sadness in his heart; he had been so foolish. Sorrow was a heavy emotion he'd carried for years, one which threatened to choke him when he let it grow too strong.  
  
He pushed what was left of a fried egg around on his plate with his fork, pretending to listen to Hagrid's account of his first meeting with a grindylow. Back when he'd been that 15-year-old boy who'd nearly fainted during breakfast, he could never have imagined himself sitting next to a former teacher, discussing a subject he, Remus Lupin, was hired to teach.   
  
Ever so often, his gaze flew to Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were toasting something – or someone – at the Gryffindor table.   
  
Ron was seated on the very chair Lupin's shoes had been placed on, without his knowledge, almost 20 years earlier.   
  
Remus sighed, and smiled meekly when Hagrid illustrated his experiences with spasmodic movements.   
  
He'd never needed a lap to be propped up against, a shoulder to rest his head on, more than he did now. He'd never really craved someone who was willing to carry him to the hospital wing before, but he did now.   
  
When he'd finally realized that, it was too late. It had been too late for years on end.   
  
The last part of his fried egg slipped off the plate and onto the tabletop.   
  
He stared at it for a moment, then gathered himself, forced his lips to form something he hoped would pass for an interested smile, and turned to Hagrid, ready to give him his views on the grindylow. _Fin_


End file.
